


Dubious Intent

by orphan_account



Category: Journey into Mystery, Marvel, Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dubious Morality, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-09
Updated: 2013-01-27
Packaged: 2017-11-24 06:15:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/631338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Loki imagined how he would eventually be expelled from his prissy private school, he did not envision it being such a dull event.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Loki goes through a lot when he’s fourteen, and by that he doesn’t just mean the obvious, humiliating changes that adolescence entails. Unlike most kids his age, he gets expelled from high school, is sent to boarding school and discovers he really enjoys sucking dick all at once. It may seem like one of these is unlike the others, but really, they are all intrinsically related.

He blames Thor, which is apt considering Thor is at fault for everything that has ever gone fantastically wrong in Loki’s life.

 

\--

“Honestly, it’s not as if I was trying to get expelled,” is the first thing Loki says once he’s forced into the dean’s office, and it all goes downhill from there because it’s followed by, “and if I was, I would’ve done it much more elegantly than setting fire to Sif’s hair.”

When Loki inextricably receives a letter of expulsion, he sets about devising various ways to get out of it; as much as he hates to admit it, none of them are particularly viable.

When Sif receives a two week suspension, Loki protests violently, all but snarling about fairness, gross abuses of power and favoritism. Sif shoots him a glare on her way out of the office, the frayed fringes of her hair emphasizing the expression’s nastiness.

The dean pays him no mind as he says, “Sif is a straight A student—“

“As am I.”

“—and is vice president of her class—“

“Rigged election.”

“—is on the girl’s softball team, the hockey team, the fencing team—“

“I don’t see how this is relevant,” Loki says, loudly.

“—not to mention, this is her _first_ offense.”

He settles back down in his seat. “Damn.”

 

\--

Loki drags his heels, but he has to go home and face his parents eventually. He takes a long, convoluted path back home, but once inside the house, he heads straight for his father’s office. There’s no use in further delaying the inevitable.

When he arrives and sees Thor pacing in front of the door, he doesn’t waste time launching into a rant, wringing his hands every which way as Thor stands there, silent and red-faced.

“And of all places you choose the chem lab?” rages Loki. The chem lab is his domain; it’s the one place where he can experiment with explosive chemicals and not deal with buffoons like his brother who usually never venture far from their territory in the boy’s smelly locker room and the football field. “My chem lab? Why didn’t you just drag her into the bathroom or find some abandoned classroom on the third floor?”

Thor struggles for a reply. “Sif didn’t want to wait?” he says, posing it as a question more than an answer.

Loki lets out an unintelligible yell as he shoves at Thor’s chest.

Thor, eyebrows raised, barely moves an inch. Loki’s palms begin to warm and sting.

The thing is, Loki only asks Thor why he’d been in the lab to see what Thor had to say for himself. He’s fairly certain he already knows the real answer that has Thor flushing and taut around the shoulders, and it’s somewhat alarming, albeit unsurprising. He just doesn’t have time to dwell on it at the moment.

Looking up at Thor, Loki declares with great flourish, “I hate you.”

“No you don’t,” Thor replies, raising his voice.

“I do!”

“You’re lying again.”

“I never lie!”

“That’s a lie, too!”

“Boys.” Their mother strides into the room, commanding their full attention with her tall and regal presence. Her expression is weary when she tells Loki, “Your father wishes to speak with you.”

Thor makes a move to follow him into the office but Frigga lays a hand on his arm and says, voice gentle, “Not yet, dear. He only wants to see Loki for now.”

That…does not sound good.

“I’m gonna die,” says Loki, voice exaggeratedly resigned. “See you later in hell, bro.”

He rushes out the door before his mother is able to scold him. He has enough upset parents to deal with at the moment.

 

\--

Odin rages at him for an impressive eighty-six minutes, during most of which his face is a spectacular shade of purple. A generous amount of spit flies from his mouth as he rants on and on about his deep disappointment, about shame and upholding the family name and blah blah blah, Loki’s heard variants of this speech at least bi-monthly at this point, but the one thing that sets this apart from the others is—

“Go pack your bags. You’ll be at Le Rosey before the week is out.” Odin breathes heavily through his nostrils. He’s mostly gathered himself at this point, looking as calm as any parent can after finding out his son’s been expelled from the most prestigious high school in the city for being accused—and guilty—of violent misconduct and attempted arson.

“Boarding school,” Loki says, disbelievingly, as if he hadn’t just been responsible for said violent misconduct and attempted arson, “You’re sending me to boarding school?”

“Be grateful I’m not throwing you into the adoption house,” Odin says, and there’s an odd twitch in his eye that accompanies this declaration, but Loki doesn’t pay it any mind because _boarding school._

“No.” Loki shrugs his shoulders, and the statement is flippant in its finality. “I’m not going. I refuse.” The inherent _you wouldn't dare_ doesn’t need to be said.

Odin snorts, imperiously crossing his arms. “What part of this discussion made you think you had a choice in the matter?”

“Mother will never allow it,” Loki says, only a touch desperately. Surely Frigga would protest to her youngest son, her darling baby boy, from being sent away.

Odin peers at him over his glasses. “Your mother had a long talk with Sif’s mother earlier,” he says, “and she’s agreed boarding school will do you good.”

“It will not ‘do me good’ whatever that even means,” Loki grumbles to mask the crack and the ensuing plea in his voice. “You can’t just send me away like this.”

“I can, and I will. You’ve forced my hand, Loki.” Odin’s tone suggests there’s nothing else to be said here.

 

\--

Thor is grounded for a month. Thor, who made out with his girlfriend in the chemistry lab after hours, provoking Loki’s ire and therefore the ire of his flaming bunsen burner, is grounded for a month, whereas Loki is being shipped off to boarding school in another country.

Loki protests even more violently than he did in the dean’s office, but Odin refuses to budge. “Your brother didn’t set fire to a peer and cause a school-wide evacuation,” is what Odin says, as if that’s the answer to everything, “and he’s not expelled.”

Thor shrugs, uncaring either way. “It’s father’s decision.” He does shift a little guiltily though, when Loki stares at him with his unyieldingly sharp green eyes. “What? I’m sorry?”

Loki just snarls at him again.

The sad part is Loki knows that’s as close to an apology as he’s ever going to get from Thor. As far as Loki’s concerned, Thor had provoked him by intruding on his territory with his idiotic girlfriend, and was equally at fault for the incident. Loki might have been the one to set Sif’s hair on fire, but Thor might as well have been the one to light up the burner.

Loki isn’t quite sure if that metaphor makes any logical sense, but it makes perfect sense in his own mind because everything is consistently and without fail, Thor’s fault.

 

\--

Loki doesn’t cry.

No, he does not, no matter what Thor insists he saw— “I have _allergies,_ Thor! It’s spring and there’s pollen everywhere!”

“Crybaby!” Thor brings his fists up to his eyes, rubbing at them and making high pitched _wahwaah_ noises.

Maybe going to boarding school isn’t such a bad idea, after all. 

This thought lasts him all of five seconds before he has another “allergy attack.”

 

\--

Loki isn’t quite over the crybaby taunt, and he’s nowhere near forgiving Thor’s stupidity in deciding it was a good idea to rut up against his girlfriend like an animal with his little brother watching—at their school, of all places—but Loki still ends up sneaking into Thor’s room later that night to talk. And by talk, he actually means to complain about Odin, ogle Thor’s pleasing shirtlessness and contemplate what his next plan of action regarding Thor should be.

After being sent to his room without dinner like a naughty little kid throwing a temper tantrum—which Loki most certainly is not—Loki’s had more than enough time to think over why today’s disastrous events played out the way they did. Loki’s now had time to reason out why Thor chose the chemistry lab; why Thor’s eyes were open as Sif kissed him, why his eyes constantly wandered over towards Loki’s irritated and embarrassed gaze, and why Loki blushed furiously and reacted the way he had. He’s had similar suspicions in the past, but they hadn’t been confirmed until today; Thor has never been subtle with the undivided attention and affection he’s always showered on his little brother.

As Loki predicted, it was all Thor’s fault.

“I don’t want to go to boarding school,” Loki gripes and shoves at Thor until he moves aside and makes room on the bed. He jumps in under the warm covers. “It’s going to be filled with snobby rich kids expelled from their equally snobby high schools.”

Thor is half-asleep, face smushed against his pillow, when he says, “You mean they’re all clones of you, then?”

“What—no. Obviously not. There’s _no one_ like me,” Loki replies indignantly, watching as Thor rolls over onto his back. His eyes trail down Thor’s stomach, across his defined abdomen. Oh, bless rigorous football training. “One of me is already more than what this wretched world of ours deserves, anyway.” Loki accentuates his words with a sharp hmph.

“You mean we don’t deserve your terrible practical jokes? Yeah, not gonna argue with that,” Thor says, and Loki throws a pillow at his face. Loki shifts, deftly swinging his legs around Thor’s waist to hold the pillow down. But then Thor just sits up on his elbows, and Loki falls, face first, to the side with a soft _ooof._

Loki isn’t sure why he even bothers trying sometimes.

“Get me out of it,” he whines, rolling onto his side. He holds his head up with his arm and flutters his eyelashes up at Thor. “Please? Father will listen to you. He always does.” He almost succeeds in keeping the bitterness from his voice. Almost. Not that it matters, since Thor never notices.

“If you don’t attend boarding school then where will you go?” Thor grabs the pillow previously serving as a projectile-slash-choking-device and places it behind his head. He settles down on it. “There’s no way you’ll be allowed back at Browning.”

Loki crosses his arms across his chest, staring up at the ceiling. “I can always get home schooled.”

“You hated tutors when we had them,” Thor points out. “You drove them all away screaming and in tears.” He frowns before contemplatively adding, “I think you set one of them on fire, too—you know what, maybe we should talk about this.”

“That was one time. And both were accidents. My hand slipped.” In Sif’s case, Loki’s hand slipped…all the way across the room to knock a bunsen burner into the ends of her long hair, somehow managing to strategically avoid Thor, who had been attached to her by the mouth. After a few rigorous rolls in the safety blanket, she was fine—although, admittedly, with much less hair and much more energy, the latter of which was directed into the punch to the jaw Loki received afterwards.

At least, that’s what he thinks happened. It all became a hazy, reddened blur after Sif hit him.

Too exhausted to argue, Thor just says, dubiously, “Sure, brother.”

“Fine. I don’t know. Maybe Father can buy me a spot at some other school. He can do that, can’t he?”

“Maybe,” Thor answers vaguely. They both know the real question is whether Odin would want to do that for Loki, his mischievous and trouble-making son, not whether it’s in his power to do so.

Judging by Odin’s earlier overreaction, and by the emails Loki’s already started receiving from Le Rosey, it doesn’t seem likely. Thor probably knows it, too.

He slings an arm around Loki. “I’ll miss you while you’re away,” he says, voice muffled against his pillow. Something in his stomach flutters at Thor’s touch, warm and pleasant; it almost makes him think everything is going to be okay. “You’ll come home for the holidays, yeah?”

“No,” Loki says, “I’m going to stay in Switzerland and let you deal with our prissy relatives during the holidays all on your own. Ha! As if. You’d die without me. You can barely have a minute-long conversation with granny Bestla without making a fool of yourself.”

“I take it back,” Thor mumbles sleepily, shifting so that his lips rest against the shell of Loki’s ear. “You can stay at boarding school. Maybe I can turn your room into a gym.”

Loki shivers, burrowing deeper into the covers. “I hate you.”

“No you don’t.”

“I really, really do.”

Thor tightens his arm around him and impulsively says, “That's okay. I love you enough to make up for your cold and shriveled little heart.”

Loki doesn’t know what to say to that.

Thor doesn’t seem to mind the silence that descends in the room as he shut his eyes and breathes in deeply. They lie there under the soft sheets, limbs half on top of each other, breaths occasionally intermingling; it’s warm, it’s comforting, and Loki craves this more than he’d realized.

“You don’t seem very upset I set your girlfriend on fire,” Loki says quietly, which isn’t what he means to say at all.

Thor sighs, “Go to sleep, Loki,” and Loki, for once in his life, does as he’s told.

 

\--

Loki wakes up in the middle of the night to something warm and solid pressing against his inner thigh. He raises his head to stare down at his brother’s face, taking in the bow of his parted lips, the relaxed set of his blond brow and the faded scar on the side of his left cheek. Then he blinks blearily up at the ceiling, considering his options.

He falls back asleep, content and at ease, with thoughts of how nice it is to be right, and how wonderful his revenge on Thor will be. It’ll be satisfying to go out—or, in this case, to Switzerland—with a memorable bang.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Chapter warning** for slight dubcon. Also, please note the rating change.

Loki hadn’t suspected Thor wanted him until a year ago, when Thor insisted Loki was wearing his school uniform wrong, and his hands lingered all over him as he adjusted and readjusted the tie around Loki’s neck and the white socks sliding around his ankles.

Loki doesn’t know when he started wanting Thor, but he thinks it was a culmination of events that led up to it. Like when he caught Thor and Sif necking in the cafeteria one afternoon, only stopping to breathe when they were scolded by passing faculty; when he and Thor snuck into an R-rated movie and the lead actress kept making all of these noises whenever she was kissed, noises that made Thor blush and fidget; and when Thor tackled him against the green of the football field that one time Loki dared to venture out there, laughing into Loki’s neck and viciously tickling at his skin.

All of this must have added up, because now when he’s too close, Loki is constantly caught between wanting to run away because Thor is his brother, kneeing him in the groin because Thor is still his brother, or leaning in that much closer because his brother is warm and safe and always has been.

 

\--

By the time Loki rolls out of bed, it’s nearly noon and Thor has long left for school. He knows the house is empty so he doesn’t bother with being sneaky when he stumbles into the hallway. He drowsily drags himself to the bathroom and later, to his bedroom.

Then he hurries back into Thor’s room when he remembers that Odin’s confiscated his phone and both of his computers as some arcane form of excessively cruel punishment. As if boarding school isn’t enough of one.

Thor’s computer is password protected and Loki spends nearly an hour trying different phrases, ranging from _sif’s sweet ass_ to _poptarts_ to _loki’s sexy body_. He tries variations of the last one multiple times and is extra disappointed when each attempt is rejected. He finally gets in when, on a whim, he tries _penis hammer_ , which he’s going to have to ask Thor about later.

When Thor comes home late in the afternoon, looking sweaty and tired from practice, he stops and stares at Loki spread out on his bed. Frowning, he says, “You’re still here?”

“Not by choice.” Loki glares at him over the bright computer screen. “Father is a sadistic bastard.” When he explains Odin taking away his precious technological resources, Thor laughs and laughs until something solid and compact comes flying at his head. He dodges without much effort and laughs some more.

Loki grabs Thor’s laptop and stomps out the room.

 

\--

After dinner, Thor barges into Loki’s bedroom to demand he hand over the computer.

Loki has the laptop in his lap as he lounges on the bed, and his reply is immediate. “Nope. Busy. Go away.” He pulls up the school website over the video he has playing on mute.

Thor makes reaching motions for the computer. “C’mon, you can hack the school website some other time. I have a paper due tomorrow.”

“Please,” Loki says, “I know you just want to v-chat and make lovey dovey goo goo eyes at Sif.” He makes a gagging noise and, as if on cue, a notification of Sif calling pops up on the screen. In the little window, she has her chin propped in her hands and a soft smile on her face.

“Oh, look!” Loki says, delighted. He clicks the blinking green button to accept the chat invitation. “She’s right on time. Hello, Sif. How’s the hair?”

Sif takes one look at him and his wicked grin, and promptly disconnects the call.

Loki pouts. “Well, that was rude—hey!”

Thor’s hand is wrapped around the computer screen and he’s tugging it away from Loki’s own iron-clad grip. “Let go.”

“There’s no point, it’s too late,” Loki says, scrabbling his fingers against the surface of the computer. He hastily tries to press a few keys to exit out of the video still playing in the background; in it, Loki can see a muscular brunet sliding onto his knees. He swallows, and continues, voice high-pitched and strained, “She already hung up!“

“Only because of you,” Thor says crossly, still pulling on his laptop.

Loki grits his teeth. The video is ongoing, and he can’t reach the right keys to stop it. He rambles, “No, because she's an uncivilized bi—“

“Don’t.” Thor cuts him off, because apparently setting Sif on fire warrants a half-hearted glare or two but badmouthing her gets Thor all threatening and protective bear-like. “What’re you even doing on my computer?” Loki pauses, takes a moment to come up with better answers than the one he has on the tip of his tongue because _definitely not watching porn so I can figure out how to seduce you or anything_ probably isn’t one of his most convincing lies. But his excuses don’t matter in the end, because Thor throws a pointed nod towards Loki’s closet and demands, “Shouldn’t you be busy packing, anyway?”

It’s an innocuous question and it shouldn’t sting as much as it does. “What,” Loki says, voice taking on an overly affronted tone, “do you want me out that badly?”

Thor huffs in exasperation and his grip on the computer relaxes enough for Loki to pull it towards him and hug it to his chest. “You know that’s not true.” He makes a weak attempt to reach for it again.

Loki sniffs and turns to the side, computer still protectively snug against his body. “Sure.”

“Would you stop—y’know what, fine. Keep the damn thing,” Thor growls, fed up. He turns on his heel and stalks to the door. “I’m gonna fail American History no matter what, anyway.” He stops before quietly muttering, “Not like it matters.”

But it does matter—and a lot. And Loki knows it, because Thor’s grades are atrocious in history, and if he receives a mark lower than his precarious C- average, he’ll be kicked off the football team. Even Thor, star player, can’t change the rules.

After he closes the video window, Loki rolls his eyes and plops his open palms on top of the computer. “Wait.”

Thor’s shoulders are haunched in a pitiful manner when he turns around.

Damn it all.

“What’s the paper on?” Loki manages to sound only a little bit mopey.

His big brother’s lips twitch into a grin before he answers—the War of 1812—and Loki has a feeling he just got played as he opens up a word document and fills in the heading.

But that’s okay, because Thor just got tricked, too, without even knowing it.

He sprawls out on Loki’s bed and explains the rubric for his essay. When Loki affects a confused frown and asks questions he already knows the answers to, Thor rests his chin on his shoulder to peer at what Loki’s written so far. His chest is flush against Loki’s spine and his breath lightly gusts against his ear as he rumbles unhelpful but grateful little _thank you's_ to him.

Loki has to fight to keep his own grin from spreading on his face.

Revenge is going to be sweet, as well as a cinch.

 

\--

Maybe describing it as a cinch is exaggerative by just a tad.

His plan for extracting revenge is simple enough. Unlike him, Thor worries about upholding morals—no matter how dull—and Loki is going to assume giving into his wet dream fantasies of fucking his kid brother into the mattress goes against at least one of them. The entire basis of his revenge hinges on the likelihood that Thor will feel horrifyingly guilty after he finally, inevitably gives in to his basest of wants.

The plan is just about foolproof; worst case scenario is Thor is beyond sexually frustrated all week because he refuses to respond to Loki’s advances, whereas the best case scenario is Loki gets fucked the way he’s been waiting his whole life—alright, about a year—for, and Thor is wracked with guilt the morning after. Perhaps the best part is Loki won’t even have to deal with Thor or any of the aftermath since he’ll soon be on a plane to Switzerland.

It’s very close to perfect, this plan of his.

But there’s just one problem.

Loki hadn’t counted on how frustrating it would be when Thor refused him.

 

\--

He’s not even two pages into writing the essay when Thor falls asleep, curled up in Loki’s blankets and drooling into his pillow.

Loki finishes up another paragraph before minimizing the window and opening up the video from earlier. He peeks at Thor to make sure he’s still asleep, checks that the volume is on mute, and presses play.

He tilts his head and squints his eyes as one man is bent into a painful-looking position and another thrusts into him. Loki is decently flexible, but…He steals furtive glances at Thor, hoping he won’t have to be as bendy as the man in the video to satisfy him.

A few short minutes pass, and Loki can already feel his cheeks heating up at the obscene display before him. Without thinking, he shuts the video off and climbs on top of Thor, resting his legs around his waist. Thor stirs, but doesn’t awaken. He’s dressed in pajamas and his plaid pants slip low on his hips as Loki fidgets to get comfortable.

Loki experimentally bounces, panting a little at the friction of his clothed erection sliding against Thor’s cock, still soft but thick and tempting. Warmth pools low in his stomach, making him dizzy and lightheaded with want. Loki leans down and after a moment’s hesitation, presses his dry lips against Thor's in a brief, chaste kiss.

He pulls away right as Thor draws in a sharp breath and snaps his eyes open.

“Loki?” He blinks at him and wipes away the drool on his jaw. “What’re you doing?”

Loki squirms and bites his lip—because the men in the video do that a lot so he probably should too—and stares down to scrutinize Thor’s reaction. His face is red, and something twitches against Loki’s thigh. “What does it look like?”

Thor raises his eyebrows, trying to maintain a semblance of calm, as if his little brother nearly molesting him in his sleep is a normal occurrence. He clears his throat, tries to shrug one shoulder in a nonchalant manner. “I dunno, but whatever it is, it’s weird. Get off me.”

Loki narrows his eyes.

“You’re heavy,” Thor complains, and Loki is reminded very clearly of how poorly he lies. “Get off.”

“Make me,” Loki says.

“I will.”

“No you won’t.”

He doesn’t.

“I know, Thor.” Loki licks his lips and trails a finger down Thor’s collarbone to the center of his chest, pulling his shirt collar down in the process to reveal enticingly tanned muscle. He grins, teasing, “You _want_ me.”

“I—you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“ _You want me_ ,” Loki repeats, stubbornly.

“You’re only fourteen,” Thor protests, to which Loki pouts, “You shouldn’t—I mean, what? I don’t—“

Loki gleefully interrupts, putting him out of his spluttering misery. “I’ve known for ages.” Which isn’t true, unless “ages” means a few months and “known” means vaguely suspected. But it’s more dramatic this way. And it’s worth it for the way Thor’s eyes widen like saucers and his face reddens furiously like a school girl confronted with her first crush, which in a way, Loki supposes is appropriate.

“Ages,” Thor says, and wow, Loki did not know his voice could reach such a high pitch.

“Ages,” Loki confirms, “I keep telling you—subtlety is not your friend.”

And well, that’s not a lie. For one thing, Thor probably should’ve gotten out of the habit of tackling Loki when he was angry—or simply enthusiastic, which he often is about most things—when he began to sport blatant erections whenever Loki was pinned beneath him. One just does not miss things the size of Thor’s cock. Especially not when it’s poking into the back of one’s thigh.

“Besides, did you think I didn’t catch how suspicious it was of you to choose my chemistry lab to defile Sif in?” Loki sniffs. “I’m insulted, Thor. How oblivious do you think I am?”

“Not oblivious,” Thor says, still staring at him wide-eyed and flustered, “just…innocent.”

“Me. Innocent. Really?” To prove his point, Loki pitches his hips forward, rubbing against the hardening outline he can feel through Thor’s pants. His leans down, lithely arching his back as he rests his forehead against Thor’s shoulder. Thor chokes out a delicious gasp when Loki grinds down again, harder this time. Loki bites back his own little moan, teeth sinking into the soft flesh of his bottom lip when Thor bucks up into him. “So that’s established now, right?” He tries to keep the excitement from his voice when he asks, “Can we move on?”

“No. _No._ We’re _brothers._ And you’re fourteen,” Thor says again, as if repeating it would make Loki realize the error of his ways and refrain from feeling up his brother. He abruptly sits up, or tries to, but he doesn’t get very far when Loki shimmies down Thor’s body in response, drawing a strained groan from deep within his throat. He pulls Thor’s pants along with him on his way down. “Stop it! You can’t—I can’t just let you—oh, guh.”

And just like that, Thor gives in.

\--

Thor doesn’t mean to, really, he doesn’t.

All Thor planned on doing this night was wheedling his way into Loki’s good graces in the hopes he would complete Thor’s paper for him. It was going well enough to plan when he’d mistakenly fallen asleep to the lull of the quietly clacking keyboard and his brother’s soothing voice as he muttered about American expansionism and Thor’s embarrassing lack of knowledge on the subject.

Thor somehow woke up to Loki on top of him, looking like a wet dream come to life, with blown pupils, a flush high on his pale face, and parted, bitten-red lips.

Thor will look back on this moment and call it an ambush because then all of a sudden his little brother is pressed flush against his body and mouthing at his erection through his briefs, and there’s nothing else Thor can do but let it happen. Not when he’s imagined this for so long, not when Loki is on top of him and making all of these delighted little sounds, as if he’s hungry, as if he’s absolutely starving, for Thor’s cock.

He can’t refuse when he can barely think past the sweet pressure of Loki’s mouth against his dick and of his clever little hands cupping and massaging the underside of Thor’s balls through the thin cotton. When the spot where Loki’s been sucking at is soaked with spit and precome, he pulls away and looks up at Thor, eyelashes fluttering delicately against his cheekbones. “You were saying, Thor?” Loki doesn’t even wait for an answer before he grins wickedly and tugs Thor’s briefs down to his thighs. He’s wrapping nimble fingers around his hard, weeping cock and Thor’s mind goes pleasantly blank, unable to focus on anything but Loki’s spindly hands pumping up and down.

“Thooor,” Loki croons, breathlessly drawing out the syllable in his name, “didn’t you have something to say?”

Oh. Right. Yes, Thor was protesting something. He can’t, for the life of him, remember what it was. But surely it’s unimportant compared to the throbbing ache that Loki’s been so attentively tending to, so Thor vigorously shakes his head. Sweaty blond strands of hair fall into his face, fluttering against his lips as he pants through his mouth.

“Good.” Loki has the nerve to wink at him, and a familiar, acute rush of affection shoots through him at the site, before Loki leans down and flicks his soft, pink tongue out to taste the precome beading at the tip and all Thor can register is the blinding pleasure of it. Loki swirls his tongue at the head a few more times before slowly, painstakingly licking down the pulsing vein he finds on the underside of Thor’s cock. Thor huffs out a soft, delirious little laugh, nearly shaking while he’s at it. Trust his mischievous little brother to be a tease at everything.

When Loki finally spreads his pliant lips over the head and takes Thor into his mouth, he has to curl his hands into fists to keep from jerking up deeper into the wet warmth. He knows better—the last time he’d done that with Sif he hadn’t been able to get laid for weeks, and Loki is likely less experienced _and_ more prone to holding petty grudges. But Thor strains with the effort here, more than he ever remembers having to with Sif, because this is Loki and Loki’s perfect hands and his perfect mouth and—

Loki chokes around Thor’s cock when he thrusts up. Thor pulls back immediately, as does Loki, who rubs at his throat and glares at him with sharp, watery eyes.

Thor is about to say something like _sorry sorry I’m so sorry Loki please_ when Loki bends right back down and takes Thor into his mouth again, as if he can’t get enough of Thor’s taste on his tongue, enough of Thor’s cock in his mouth, gag reflex be damned.

Thor keens and muffles his groans against the back of his hand. His muscles strain with the effort of remaining still, and Loki’s hand moves down to scratch warningly into the sensitive skin on the inside of his thigh. He leaves behind thin, red marks and Thor finds himself hoping they’ll remain there for a long time, for as long as possible.

When he feels himself dangerously close to the edge, Thor mumbles something unintelligible and grips the hair at the back of Loki’s head between shaky fingers. He tugs experimentally, and Loki lets out a small whine at the pressure.

Thor pulls harder, until Loki’s mouth slides off him with a slick plop. A trail of spit and precome drips from his mouth, connecting his lips to Thor’s cock. It stretches lewdly when Thor reaches his hand under Loki’s jaw to tip his head backwards. The image of that is more than he can take, and he wraps a hand around himself and jerks once, twice, before he’s coming and spilling all over his stomach with a muffled grunt.

Loki’s eyes are wide, and Thor thinks he looks more adorable than he should considering his dark pupils have overtaken most of the green in his eyes. Loki seems fascinated as he stares at the white ropes of come marring Thor’s skin, and he wonders if Loki wants to lick it away. Thor swallows around a mouth gone dry. _He_ wants Loki to want to lick it away. His spent cock twitches at the very thought.

“Thor,” Loki says, breathless, breaking the silence. At his voice, a sharp jolt of clarity strikes through Thor’s hazy afterglow.

“Get off,” Thor says, roughly, and when Loki remains on top of him frowning until he looks alarmingly close to falling into a full-lipped pout, Thor shoves him aside and rolls on top of him in one quick maneuver. Loki struggles underneath him at first, likely out of habit more than anything else, before Thor grips his thin wrists and traps them firmly against the mattress.

“You want this,” Thor says, and he can’t control the way his voice comes out low and rough as gravel. He’s not sure if he’s asking a question or stating it as fact, but he’s starting to lean towards the latter.

Loki cocks his head to the side and licks his lips. Thor’s eyes follow every darting movement of his pink tongue, and Loki snickers softly when he notices. Warmth spreads in Thor’s chest at the familiar sound, as does relief, because he thinks he knows the answer to his half-question already. “Was that a question?”

Thor looks down at him, taking in his blown eyes, the movement of his thin chest with each pant and the obvious arousal straining wetly through his worn out pajama pants.

“No,” Thor answers truthfully, before kissing him, slow and deep, tongue plunging into Loki’s yielding mouth. Loki moans high in his throat, arching his body upwards, and this is simultaneously everything Thor’s tormented himself over and dreamt of, and it is still so much more than he ever expected.

\--

Things are going far too well, so of course Loki has to ruin it all. To be fair, he doesn’t mean to murmur the suggestion into Thor’s ear just yet—he knows it’s too soon.

But Thor’s finished slowly jerking him off and Loki’s shuddering against him, trembling so hard he can just imagine Thor’s infuriatingly smug, victorious grin against the crook of his neck, and the words slip out, softly in between the small space between them.

And Thor freezes and jerks away, reality or guilt or both hitting him between the eyes.

At Loki’s startled expression, Thor hastily leans forward to press his lips to Loki’s forehead—Loki squirms, because the kiss is placating at best and makes him feel like a child. He mumbles, “It’s late, go to sleep,” before rolling off the bed and attempting to nonchalantly walk out the door. He quietly clicks the door shut behind him.

Loki blinks after him, wondering if he’ll need to revise his plans, because Thor isn’t supposed to be _that_ averse to fucking him.

It must be another dumb moral thing.

Loki will have to find a way to work around that.

He ignores the disappointment threatening to destroy his afterglow and counts tonight as a victory, albeit a hollow one. Loki’s plan is to drive Thor veritably insane with his teasing and later crush him with guilt; he hadn’t expected to go down the same sexually frustrated path with his excessively moralistic brother in the meantime.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks if you're still here reading!
> 
> I'm...going to go cry about how this ended up being 100x longer than it was supposed to be now orz


	3. Chapter 3

Loki stays up most of the night alternating between finishing up Thor’s paper and jerking off to the memory of Thor’s hands running over his bare skin. The latter keeps him from chucking the computer off the bed, leaving the essay unfinished and letting his idiot brother fail his class.

He considers this option again the next morning, when Loki wakes up to find Thor had already left for school, essay forgotten. After all, it is Thor’s fault for not bothering to remember his own assignment. And it’s no matter to him if Thor is kicked off the team; it would be karmic justice, due punishment for all that his brother’s gotten away with in the past.

But still. Thor would be inconsolable. The very thought of dealing with his moping is enough to get Loki grudgingly walking to his former school with Thor’s history paper in hand.

 

\--

When Loki makes his way to the school gym, he ignores the pointed stares and whispers he receives from the students loitering in the hallway. Jane Foster catches sight of him and immediately ducks into the physics lab, locking the door with an audible click.

“It was an _accident_ ,” Loki mutters, but no one seems to be listening to him, far too busy talking amongst themselves about him instead. With a quiet hmph, he tilts his chin up in defiance and takes the exit leading to the outdoor field.

It’s currently fifth period, and he knows this is Thor’s gym period. Otherwise known as the hour in which Thor shows off his godly athletic prowess as girls, and quite a number of boys, fill up the bleachers to fawn over him.

It’s as sickening as it sounds, and Loki can’t roll his eyes enough as he takes a seat at the far end of the bleachers and bears witness to the excited chattering and gasping whenever Thor scores a goal. Today they’re playing soccer, and though Thor isn’t a natural at it the way he is with football, he still manages to decimate the other team on the field with his stubborn competitiveness and sheer Thor-ness.

Loki’s eyes eventually glaze over and he loses track of the game; he completely misses it when a boy from the opposing team shoves at Thor. But when a whistle pierces through the air and a few muted shouts resonate from the field, he snaps back to attention just in time to see him shove back, roaring something inaudible to Loki’s ears.

Loki will deny to his last breath that the site of an angry Thor causes heat to pool low in his belly. And he will also deny that the sweat matting Thor’s hair to his forehead and the wild, competitive look in his eyes has Loki shifting his thighs close together and his breaths coming out shallow.

In a matter of seconds, the fight is broken up, Thor held back by his friends, still fuming, and the other unnamed boy supported by his own crowd of people as his nose bleeds all over them.

Their gym teacher’s voice is booming, carrying across the field. “To the locker room, the both of you!”

Loki waits about fifteen minutes before hopping off the bleachers and trailing after his brother. He isn’t sure if that amount of time is enough to cool Thor down, but the fight hadn’t been that bad, and frankly if Loki has to sit through another second of this sport he’s likely to try to commit arson again. And possibly succeed this time, too.

 

\--

The locker room smells as bad as he remembers, and he tries not to breathe in too deeply to spare himself the torture, until he spots Thor and stops breathing completely.

Thor is stripped down to nothing but a fluffy towel wrapped around his waist as he fiddles with the grapple on his locker, brows furrowed in concentration. His hair is in disheveled waves around his face and dripping wet from the shower he’d just taken; it’s an expectedly good look for him. Especially with the shiny rivulets of water sliding down his toned back and the precarious grip the towel has on his body.

Just a small tug—it could even be an accidental one, a casual brush of the hand—and the towel would slide right off…  
  
Loki is pulled out of his thoughts when Thor noisily opens his locker and turns to pick up his toiletries from the bench. His balks when he spots his brother. “Loki,” he says, haltingly, “what’re you doing here?”

Loki doesn’t answer at first as he forcibly wills his earlier thoughts away. He shoves the essay at Thor, who looks at it in surprise. “Here. It’ll get you at least a B plus, and even that should bring your _terribad_ grade up.”

“You actually finished it for me?” Thor sounds dangerously sentimental, and Loki twitches. Thor’s fingers tighten around the sheets of paper, bunching them in his grip.

“Not for you,” Loki says flippantly, “It’s for Mrs. Bowen. She shouldn’t have to explain to the dean why she’s failing you for the billionth semester.”

Thor’s gaze softens in spite of Loki’s denial. He is completely different from a mere fifteen minutes ago when he was shouting and pummeling a kid into the ground, and Loki would marvel at the change if he wasn't so used to it. And yet _he_ is the one always accused of sourly mood swings, hmph.

“Loki,” he says, warmly, “thank you.” The simple statement is laden with Thor’s gratitude, and Loki preens despite himself, clasping his hands together behind his back.

This will also be denied until his very last day on this earth.

Loki is about to slink out of the locker room and wander back home when Thor pauses in skimming the essay to cast concerned eyes at him. “Did you stay up all night writing this? You look exhausted.” He frowns when he catches sight of the dark bags under Loki’s eyes, and when Loki replies with a suggestive “Well, not _all_ night,” Thor immediately clamps his mouth shut with a grimace. He rubs at the back of his neck and glances away.

Loki can’t resist, not when Thor is being so obvious. “Not to worry, I slept fine,” he says, which isn’t true at all. “And I’m sure you did too,” he adds, which he hopes isn’t true either.

He likes to imagine that Thor was unable to sleep last night, that he rolled around in his bed aching as he thought about Loki sucking him off for the first time. He hopes Thor wrapped a hand around himself and got off gasping Loki’s name and rutting against his sheets, imagining it was Loki helpless and crying out underneath him. He hopes Thor was still left wanting even after he spilled for the second time that night, tempted more than ever to come back to Loki’s bed to kiss him again and again until Loki gave in and shyly repeated his request for his brother to be his first. He hopes Thor wants to be his first.

When a faint blush appears on Thor’s face, Loki knows he’s at least partially right.

“We need to talk,” Thor says lowly, dropping his hand back to his side.

“Hmm.” Loki ignores him and openly stares at Thor’s chest. “I thought you won that fight, but I guess not.”

“Wha—oh.” He glances down at himself before shrugging. “He landed a few lucky punches,” he says airily, “They’re nothing.” There’s a distant door slam that indicates the guy who managed those lucky shots had heard Thor's arrogant declaration and chose to leave instead of starting another brawl, leaving the two of them alone in the room.

Loki scoffs and points at the rapidly darkening bruises on Thor’s skin. “That is not nothing. Tell me you’re at least going to the nurse.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Thor replies, huffing out a laugh. “These are scratches compared to the beatings we get at practice. I’m fine.”

Skeptical, Loki reaches out a hand and pokes the tip of his pointer finger at the maroon mark on Thor’s stomach. He doesn’t give any indication of the pressure causing him pain, so Loki pushes at the spot with his entire hand, his probing fingertips cool against Thor’s clammy, heated skin.

“Aha!” Loki pulls away and points triumphantly at him when there’s a sharp intake of air. Thor’s face shutters. “It does hurt, stop trying to be all macho and just admit it already.”

Thor sighs, peering at him with half-hearted reproach. “If I say it hurts, will you stop trying to change the subject?”

“Change the subject? Now why would I do that?” Loki blinks wide, innocent eyes at him before reaching forward and brushing at Thor’s abdomen again, tracing at the fresh bruising. Thor is right; Loki has seen him endure worse injuries than this. Nevertheless, he delights in the way Thor’s muscles clench at his touch. “I just worry about you, brother.”

Thor’s eyebrows lift high on his forehead. The back of his hand brushes a few strands of Loki’s hair away to rest against his face. “Are you ill?”

“No, and that’s not even funny, that’s such a _cliche_ ,” bemoans Loki, and his expression is pinched, which has Thor grinning and ruffling at his hair.

“Loki would never admit to worrying about me. I believe I'm required to ask who you are and what you've done with my brother.” Loki rolls his eyes so hard it almost hurts and Thor continues, voice smug, “But I won't. I like this version better.” He nods in emphatic approval. “Much improved.”

“Thor,” Loki whines, crossing his arms over his chest when Thor just laughs at him, “see if I show any concern over you ever again.”

Thor is still smiling faintly but it doesn’t reach his eyes when he tugs Loki close, barely an inch of space between them. His hand comes up to wrap around the side of Loki’s neck in a familiar embrace, and Loki tilts his head up, wondering if Thor can feel his pulse racing beneath his palm.

“Tell me the truth,” Thor says after a moment, face impassive, and Loki knows there’s no avoiding this now. “Did I overstep any boundaries last night?”

_Stupid, chivalrous Thor._

“No,” Loki says firmly. Inwardly, he panics. If he doesn’t reassure Thor enough, he’ll never get what he wants. If he reassures Thor too much, Thor won’t feel an ounce of guilt about his actions and Loki’s entire plan falls apart at the seams.

He swears his plan was simple when he first came up with it.

“Did I ever make you uncomfortable?” Thor asks, still inscrutable.

Loki hesitates and avoids Thor’s gaze when he answers. “No.”

Thor’s grip on his neck tightens. “Tell me the truth,” he repeats.

Loki’s mind races, trying to find a middle ground that will keep his endgame intact.

“A little bit, at first.” His voice comes out small, and when he feels Thor begin to pull away, he reaches up to grasp Thor’s wrist and keep his hand still. “But not anymore. Not at all now.”

Thor scrutinizes him for a moment longer, as if expecting Loki to cave under his earnest blue-eyed gaze. Thor swallows thickly and gives a shaky nod in assent when Loki makes no indication of going back on his words. “Alright,” he finally says, voice a low rumble, “we’ll talk more about this later at home.”

He smiles softly again when Loki looks mutinous. He leans down, nuzzling at the other side of Loki’s neck as if to placate him, and his hair trickles droplets of water all over and tickles his skin, causing him to gasp and wriggle in place. He tries to hold his laughter back to little avail.

“Thor,” Loki says, between the giggles threatening to bubble from his mouth, “S-stop that. It tickles—” But it’s the wrong thing to say because then Thor is nuzzling at his neck with increased vigor, his amused grin an obvious imprint against Loki’s skin. When Loki is breathless with laughter, Thor presses him against a row of lockers behind him, and he can feel the metal pressing against his back, its sharp chill in direct contrast with Thor’s overwhelming warmth.

With Loki secure against the locker and trapped between his arms, Thor pulls away, and his eyes darken at the sight of Loki panting heavily with pink-tinged cheeks.

Loki wipes away at the water Thor dripped on him. “I’m all wet now,” he says, voice petulant, and he doesn’t mean for it to come out that way, but it’s too late to take it back.

Thor just sighs, looking pained. “We’re going to need to have a long talk about this, aren’t we?”

Loki shrugs, eyes dropping to stare at Thor’s towel contemplatively.

“And about _that_ ,” Thor adds, choking, when Loki suddenly reaches forward to fiddle with the knot of Thor’s towel. He slaps Loki’s hand away, and Loki has the grace to look abashed, although his eyes still glitter with mischief.

“The least you could do is give me a towel after getting water all over me, brother,” is all Loki has to say for himself.

“But I like this towel.” With one hand protectively holding his towel closed and another resting against the lockers above them, Thor leans close and brushes his lips against Loki’s cheek. “How about a kiss instead?”

Loki tilts his head up and feigns deep thought. “Well,” he says with a deeply disappointed sigh, “I suppose that will have to do.”

 

\--

Despite what Thor said earlier, they don’t continue their conversation at home. In fact, there’s very little talking between them that night.

Well, unless the sweet promises Thor murmur into Loki’s hair before holding him facedown against the bed and grinding his hips against the curve of Loki’s ass torturously slow, until they both shudder and come in their underwear, counts as talking.

 

\--

Afterwards, when Loki is pliant and mindless with pleasure, he demands to know why Thor won’t just take what he clearly wants already. He regrets it a moment later when Thor stiffens against him.

“I just want an answer,” Loki tells him, wrapping his hand around Thor’s arm just in case Thor feels the need to bolt yet again. But he makes no move to leave, and Loki can tell he’s considering what to say. He bites back the urge to make a quip about Thor hurting himself thinking.

Honestly, Loki expects Thor to blurt out something about incest and taboo and shame, and he readies his argument the best he can in his hazy state of mind, but instead Thor says, “You’re too young for that,” and Loki stills and gapes. “Maybe when you’re older—“

“How much older?”

Thor hesitates, pursing his lips in serious contemplation. “When you’re sixteen. At the earliest.”

“Sixteen?” Loki says, baffled. “You’ve been fantasizing about me for who knows how long, and you want to wait two years? Won’t your dick explode by then?” Loki is pretty sure his will, at any rate.

Thor snorts, hand reaching up to ruffle at Loki’s hair. Loki tries to bite at his wrist. “Your pillow talk needs work.”

“Two years, really?” He grabs onto Thor’s shoulders and tries to shake them to emphasize his words—the key word here being try. “Don’t make me turn to sleeping with one of the kids from boarding school. I’ve to think about my standards, Thor, _standards_.”

The soft, dopey smile Thor’d been directing at him all this time starts to fade. “You don’t have to sleep with anyone yet,” he says pointedly. “I mean c'mon Loki, you’re like twelve.”

What the—

His voice is soft in warning when he says, “Care to repeat that, big brother?”

“Okay,” Thor says, uncomfortable, “not twelve. That’s—not what I meant.”

Loki is casting him a baleful glare, but then he brightens, and Thor immediately looks wary in response. “Alright then, if I’m ‘like twelve’,” Loki says, with barely contained glee, “then you’re ‘like thirteen’, so there, problem solved! Age issue gone. _Ta-da_.”

Being three years older, Thor frowns. “That math doesn’t even make sense.”

“Thor,” Loki says, shaking his head mockingly, “ _none_ of this makes sense.”

For once, Thor doesn’t argue. He pulls away and draws his eyes over Loki, lingering and conflicted as if he can’t help himself. With a grimace, he says, “Yeah, it really doesn’t.”

 

\--

Thor doesn't leave that night, but he doesn't fuck him, either.

Loki has three days left to make him snap. And he will snap—it’s only a matter of time. He just needs one final push in the right direction.

If Thor thinks Loki is going to wait a whole two years, he is sorely mistaken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't resist using [terribad](http://ikolism.tumblr.com/post/41285302852/young-avengers-2013-1), I just couldn't.


End file.
